


Philza's Last Christmas Wish

by sushisoot



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Injury, Character Death, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, No Beta We Die Like Wilbur in Skyblockle, Sad Ending, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Sleepyboisinc - Freeform, cursing but not from tommy shocking i know, dadza im sorry, dadza loves his sons very much, ghostbur doesnt exist here, how i see the dsmp au, light fluff, man, metions of suicide, no beta we die like dsmp wilbur, no happy ending, random but i listened to dear theodosia the whole time writing this, sbi, tommy dies here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:13:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushisoot/pseuds/sushisoot
Summary: Philza had one wish that Christmas: it was for his boys to stay by each other's side and protect each other until the very end. He will be happy.But something changed.It was fast, too fast, actually that Philza barely caught on, a shift in their worlds that snapped something nice and spilled something more sinister. It's sickening, how cruel could the gods be if they spoiled him with kindness and snatched it away and didn't even leave a single speck? He barely notices it until it's shoved right on his face— Phil supposes that's his fault.Philza has one wish this Christmas. It was for his family to come back home in his arms safe and sound.But he knew it was useless because none of his wishes ever came true. He will never be happy anymore.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 111





	Philza's Last Christmas Wish

**Author's Note:**

> tw—death, mentions of suicide, a messed up family.
> 
> please read the tags again. this fic starts off nice but it's very very dark in the end. kinda rushed (?) hope it isnt too bad.
> 
> if any of the ccs want fics like these taken down then this is as good as gone!
> 
> ( thank you @ricc1 for beta reading <3 )
> 
> enjoy :D!

**PHILZA VIVIDLY REMEMBERS** the first day he saw Wilbur and Techno's eyes, both warm despite the color difference; Wilbur has a dark chocolate brown, one that Philza remembered sipping on mugs that burn his freezing fingertips on a winter evening, marshmallows on top the way he would prepare them, the kind of warm that he told late at night of how much he dearly loved his family and he would look up at him and beam and Philza feels as if he could eat the world raw.

Techno has a lighter one, bright with wonders and capabilities of what he could be in the future, daring and wild, like the slash of swords and the whispers, the temptation of a far greater life gods themselves would offer. Techno is destined for something magical and Phil would promise him he would be beside him every step of the way. Philza looks so happy staring at them.

Though they're twins, Wilbur and Techno aren't alike at all. Wilbur, even as a child, likes to avoid violence as much as possible. Meaning he'd rather cry aloud until Philza rushes in the room whenever Techno would steal his toy and point and whine until Techno is forced to give it back for the sake of their ears. Techno, on the other hand, would rather poke Wilbur on the head until his brother drops on the floor and run away when he gets what he wants because he has what he needs in the end. Wilbur approaches everyone in a friendly manner, with cute smiles and crinkled eyes, while Techno nervously steps out from his shell, fidgets, and glares sent your way if you ever mock him.

Wilbur grew to love music. Sometimes, Phil would find him on the guitar, clumsily strumming and plucking on the strings, but as days pass, he became more confident and Phil would listen from the other side of the door as he composes songs of his own. One day, even, Wil wrote a song for Phil, and the older had cried while the youth just laughed. Wil would sing Techno to sleep when he has a hard time doing so and Phil would come by and listen to him sing until he feels sleep tugging on his eyes.

Techno was the tough one. He was less gentle like his brother, and often if not every day, Phil would be surprised to see Techno abruptly appear on Wilbur's side to slice a zombie's head off when Wilbur hadn't noticed. Techno is even better than Phil for such a young age and Phil is so proud of him, too.

Growing up, they stayed the same. Though it's twice as worse and Phil didn't know whether to love it or hate it.

Wilbur grew up into a charming, young man. A gentleman; sweet talks, round glasses, conversations filled with laughter, eyes that stayed warm as cackling fire. He would talk himself out of any situation and he would do it with grace. No one can stay mad at him for too long when he'd flash an innocent smile like that with his doe eyes and Phil knows that very well (unfortunately). His songs came frequently and his songs were better and better each day.

Techno was probably the wittiest child Phil has ever met but he's proud of that fact. Dry humor, confident grace, icy eyes, Phil is convinced that Techno isn't on the same planet Wilbur is born from. They're startlingly different from each other that sometimes Phil is convinced that Techno isn't even remotely close to Wilbur's charming personality. Techno doesn't even break a sweat fighting monsters late at night, wrists rolling as he kills and kills the threats, too fast sometimes that they can barely catch on his dance.

They have one thing alike, though, and it's the trait that Phil will forever be proud of. They're extremely loyal to each other and would drop anything to help each other out. He raised them well. He could see it, from the way Techno rushes to help his brother who tripped face-first on the snow, worriedly asking if the other was okay only for each other to burst into a fit of giggles.

"Boys, come here!" Phil yelled from inside their cozy home, chuckling to himself when they raced each other on their way to Phil. It was Christmas, and Phil had never been happier. His nose is numb from the cold, hairs are rising, and he can see the puffs of smoke each time he breathes out— but Phil had never felt any warmer.

Techno tackles Phil first (always been the competitive and swift one) but Wil wasn't far behind either. Their laughs are all ringing in the air, lost in the cold breeze of winter, but they all have never felt any warmer.

"Merry Christmas, dad!"

Philza had one wish that Christmas: it was for his boys to always stay safe by his side. He will be happy.  
  
  


* * *

  
  


When Phil had first met Tommy, he swore he would cry. (Spoiler alert: he did cry. A _lot_.)

His eyes are icy blue, almost like the color of his sons' fingertips that one Christmas eve. He has blond waves of hair that look curly and soft to touch. His eyes are rain and his hair is like waterfalls and someday people would appreciate getting lost in him. And—Phil is hesitant about this one—he has the personality of a raging baby piglin whose gold ingot had been taken from him. Boisterous laughter, determination as strong as fire licking his veins, and words that always seem to spill laughter to whoever he talks to— Tommy definitely has a presence.

He's something like Techno, where he would act rationally in some cases and choose violence any day, but sometimes he's also like Wilbur, feathers ruffling with pride whenever people laugh at his little jokes or smile whenever he has around. Tommy can be like Phil, too, at times, where both of them would stare at Wilbur and Techno, seeing how far they've come and smile. There's one trait that Tommy has that no one else does. He's loudly stubborn, he knows what he wants and he isn't ashamed to hold onto it until the end— Phil is sure that Tommy won't be Tommy without it.

Tommy gazes in fascination as Wilbur's nimble fingers work their way to each strand of Techno's hair, brushing every one bubblegum pink. He's used to it, and he knows what he's doing. This is why Techno would rather have Wilbur dye his hair than his own, calloused ones. Wilbur seems to be good at everything he does except for violence (a fact that Phil admits he is also sad about along with Techno). But that doesn't make Phil any less proud of him.

Wherever Wilbur moves, Tommy's eyes follow, and Wilbur knows it, too, judging by the smirk playing on the corner of his lips. It's no different outside of it. Tommy looks up to his big brothers (and dad, much to Phil's amusement) very much and he's always proud to boast about Wilbur's clever mind and music, Techno's swift movements as if his weapons are another limb (and dry humor that never gets old), and his father who is known to be the toughest survivor and warrior in the land.

Tommy doesn't know it, but he has something that Wilbur and Techno are proud of. Tommy is a bright child who never fails to make the sun look dull next to him. Maybe someday he'll know how much he means to them.

"And there you go," Wilbur says, smiling. He places the brush on the nearest table. "Just in time before Christmas."

"Thanks," Technoblade mutters but there's also a hint of a smile on his face.

Phil and Tommy hop down from the couch and huddle around the Christmas tree, near the fireplace where it's illuminating the features of their faces. Wilbur and Techno soon follow, plopping down on the floor. Tommy gasps, seeing his name plastered on a box that is immediately placed on his lap, coming undone by his fingers. Phil chuckles, shaking his head as Tommy's eyes widened with awe.

"A disc! For me?" Tommy asks his dad who nods, smiling. Tommy beams and laughs to himself in disbelief, hugging the black disc with a purple ring in the middle close to him. "Thank you, dad."

Phil's heart warms, ruffling Tommy's hair. "I'm sure it doesn't mean as much as Tubbo's present, though," he jokes. Tommy perks up at the mention of his best friend but he shakes his head.

"Both means a lot to me either way. I have Cat and Mellohi now!" Tommy looks away and Phil stares and wonders if the sparks of fire in his eyes are reflected from the hearthside fire or himself. Soon enough, the two unwrap their presents as well. Phil doesn't mind, the greatest gift he can get is his family.

"A new guitar!" Wilbur brightens.

"A custom shield... " Techno's voice wavers.

"Merry Christmas, boys."

Phil laughs because he's so happy. He laughs as he and his sons gather by the fire and talk, and talk—this, and this, and this—until they fall asleep in each other's arms. Phil stays awake, though, smiling down at his sons whose eyes are fluttered shut. His heart is warm even with the storm outside.

Philza had one wish that Christmas: it was for his boys to stay by each other's side and protect each other until the very end. He will be happy.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


("Where are you going, dad?" Wil asks and blue eyes flicker to his son's. Tommy and Techno curiously peer up at him, confusion wavering in the slightest blink of an eye. Phil fiddles with his boots, cleaning away the mud though he knows it'll be stained to dirt minutes later anyway. He had paused, then, when Wilbur and Tommy look at each other and Techno tilts his head to the side.

"I'm going on an adventure," Phil proclaims, sheathing his sword. "You wanna come with?"

Tommy speaks up, eyes brightening, but Wilbur steps up and his grin dims as his words seem to diminish as quick as a snap. Phil frowns, only for a second.

"Dad, I've been meaning to ask this." Brown eyes nervously look to meet blue and Phil feels his heart ache a little. Phil is still surprised to see how much his son has grown. But he's still his son, no matter what and nothing will change that. "Tommy wants to come with me. We— uh, have talked about this before. But will you be okay with—?"

Phil grins, pride swelling for his sons. "Of course." He turns to Techno. "How about you?"

Techno shifts. "I have a plan, too. But I'll come back to you soon enough."

"Well," Phil finds himself saying, "I'll miss you boys a lot. Write to me everyday, alright?" They all nod and hug Phil as tight as they can.)

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


But something changed.

It was fast, too fast, actually that Philza barely caught on, a shift in their worlds that snapped something nice and spilled something more sinister. It's sickening, how cruel could the gods be if they spoiled him with kindness and snatched it away and didn't even leave a single speck? He barely notices it until it's shoved right on his face— Phil supposes that's his fault.

The first time, it was harder to accept.

Philza had just returned from his travels, returning to his children who set off on a path of their own; he's been frantically told through letters: the nation, the war, the discs, the brothers, then the letters stopped coming and Philza was deeply concerned for his sons—so here he is now, trudging through the thick wood of birch and dark leaves, near the land of Dream. He freezes, hearing screams of horror and cries.

He runs, and then he runs, wishing even though it's not Christmas that his sons are okay, that this is all something they'll forget the next day, that the withers in the skies are just hallucinations—

His heart drops, seeing a dug up hole on a hill, with a familiar mop of brown hair. He walks closer. If Wilbur hears him, he doesn't turn. He only smiles, but it's cold and unforgiving, and Phil thinks he deserves it, for ever thinking his sons could handle this cruel world alone. His eyes are wide and crazy and Phil knows he's responsible for it, too. He should've come sooner had he known that his son would give in to his cruel thoughts. His son smiles, eyes now shut as if he knew, too, that it changed since Phil last met him, and he asked him words that made Phil drop his sword.

"You know what this button does."

Philza grits his teeth. He wishes he hadn't, maybe he could fool Wilbur that way and stop him, but it's too late now—everything is too late now. He had read all the letters, each thought that passed in each of his son's heads, and he had been blind. "Don't do it," he begs his son, wishing a part of him—no matter how small, as long as it's still there, then Phil can convince him—is still the same. "Don't do it, please."

Wilbur scoffs. He's still grinning. He knows what he's going to do and he knows he will do it now if not ever. He moves, lifting a hand as Phil tries to reach out—

"Wilbur—!"

Phil couldn't look away from the gradual explosion that rained on the nation Wilbur used to write sonnets about, the nation Philza would smile when reading about, sipping on his drink as he tries to imagine the greatness of the very thing Wilbur is—was—proud of. Phil curses, wanting to fall on his knees as he sees faces run away from the bloodshed and try to save themselves. He wants to curse at himself for not arriving earlier. He turns to his son and he ...

Wilbur looks relieved, peace finally settling in his smile as his eyes droop. He looks as if the world just came crashing down on him and he lets it. "Phil, kill me."

He thought he heard it wrong at first.

"What?"

"Kill me," Wilbur repeats, smiling warmly now. Phil flinches away when Wilbur tries to reach for him. The brunet looks hurt for a bit, but he instead kneels on the floor, picking the sword up and taking Phil's hand into his, forcing Phil's finger to wrap around the sword. "Kill me, please. Now."

"You're my son," Phil wishes that Wilbur could drop this and just come home to him. He promises he'll be safer this time, and he won't ever let go.

Wilbur nods. "Dad—" Phil's eyes widen— "kill me _right now_."

" _Wil_ —"

" _Dad_!" Wilbur shouts this time, looking desperate, wild with regret, anger, sadness, and Phil realized that his son will never be in peace anymore if he keeps going like this. "Please, do it for me. Please, dad."

Wilbur frowns, thumb reaching out to wipe something from Phil's cheek. Phil never even realized he had been crying. "It's okay, dad. It's okay. Do it for me." He smiles. It doesn't meet his eyes.

Phil winces, hearing the sword pierce through the skin, and he starts crying now, even as Wilbur's smile turns soft as he rests his chin on his father's shoulder. Phil wraps an arm around him, pulling him close and Wilbur starts breathing heavily, his eyes growing heavier.

"Wil, go rest now please," he whispers. "It's easier for you this way."

Wilbur laughs, but it sounds sad and weary, Phil just wants him to rest. Even if it means it's for eternity. "S'okay," he's slurring his words, barely audible, "want to hug dad. Welcome back ... 'm sorry."

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The second time, Philza is angry.

He knew of everyone's hatred for Technoblade. But witnessing it first-hand, thinking he will just let it happen. Oh, he's furious.

But there's nothing he can do about it.

They glare at his son— _the audacity!_ To disrespect him even in front of his dad—and say that Techno is heartless and a monster. Phil knows that Techno doesn't care about them, he never did, he was the toughest of the three, but Philza knows that Techno is thinking of different things. Techno is angry, too, for his supposed allies—his brother—to use him as nothing but a weapon to take advantage of and then throw away Techno's beliefs along with him.

Techno is way different from what he remembers. His son's hair was bubblegum pink, now it's dark and dried with smudges of blood. His eyes are nothing but pure red; bloodthirst and bottled anger swirling in the windows to his soul. His shoulders are always stiff, almost as if he's cautious of every step even though most times it's just him and Phil together. He doesn't even lean in for hugs and he ignores Phil's offers of talking heart-to-heart.

They still joke around, but the laughs are often forced and the mood is always tense, almost as if there was a secret joke that neither of them knew of, and both of them want to figure it out but are too scared to ask. Since when had his family become like this?

Phil sighs, wishing even though there's no occasion, that Wilbur would be the last.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The third time, Philza is just tired and grief-stricken.

Tommy wasn't always the nicest child, but he cared for the things that meant a lot to him, and he cared for some people too (no matter how much he didn't want to show it). He was Philza's son, above all things, and Phil will always be proud to call him his son because Tommy is proud of it, too. Phil knows that Tommy would say it, scream it to the world if he can, so Phil will always think of his son.

The blond was rough around the edges, unable to understand other's feelings, prioritizing himself (Tubbo could've been an exception, but look where that ended up) always; Tommy was still a child who has yet to learn a lot of things. He deserves to live longer to learn.

Phil had come once, to visit him, but Tommy looked different and he looked hostile, too angry, and bottled up with emotions. Phil knew a look of dismissal when he sees one.

Dream had to come in, tug on the strings of Tommy's frail body, carve the poor boy's mind into however he wanted and had fun doing it. He enjoyed seeing Tommy finally listen to him, dropping all his armor on the ground the same as Dream forced Tommy to drop down his walls. He enjoyed seeing Tommy rely on him and him only, thinking that no one else cares for him but him, and then left when Tommy needed him most— Dream enjoyed messing with the boy (who was greatly stubborn) break.

The tall tower is too painful for Phil to see so he looks away and then he runs. Away from the place his son has been exiled to, away from the same place his son took his last breath—

Phil isn't surprised to find himself crying the moment he's lost in the snowy mountains. He isn't surprised, too, when he finds his son—his only son left in this fucked up shithole—sitting next to him, at an arm's length but he feels so far away.

"We're a fucked up family, that's what we are," Techno laughs but there's no trace of humor laced in it. Philza nods, numb. He thinks, that his surroundings weren't the only thing that grew cold. Without the warmth of Wilbur's eyes, without Techno's warm words, without Tommy's warm laugh, the roads in his path froze and grew too glossy with ice. It's slippery, but what's the point of trying to survive when he knows that no one will catch him in the end anyway?

"We're just living in a fucked up world, is all," Philza says.

Philza is walking blindly at this point, trampling all over graves, whispering his apologies but never meaning it, tasting metal from blood, he won't be surprised if he trips one night and buries himself in mud and soon enough, other people trample over him next. Then he would smile. But it would drop when Techno mourns for him—will Techno even do that? Or is he just attempting to give himself credit that he raised a loyal son even though he knows very well that Techno is just as corrupted as he is?

Technoblade is the only one he has left, who knows how long till they take him away from Philza, too. They'd always take from him. Take what Philza would give them, then take what Philza ever cared for and more because they're greedy (the gods, they're always greedy, seeing the humans as nothing but pawns for them to play with, smiling whenever Philza breaks), take more and more until they can't take anything else but himself. His story is just as tragic as his sons.

Philza has one wish this Christmas. It was for his family to come back home in his arms safe and sound.

But he knew it was useless because none of his wishes ever came true. He will never be happy anymore.

Everyone, his children, had their songs, but Phil's unfinished symphony was the song meant for the three boys—his sons, _always and forever_ —he loved dearly.

**Author's Note:**

> first sbi fanfic lets goooooo
> 
> hope i can post here often because this was really fun to write!! maybe ill write more on dreamteam next if not sbi or tommy&tubbo. hope you liked reading this, too :) it was rlly challenging to write but i had fun exploring their dynamic.
> 
> thank you for reading :D !
> 
> — much love, mango <3


End file.
